Say You'll Stay Page 3

  “Yeah, I’m listening.”

  She lets out a heavy sigh. “Are you listening? I mean, are you doing anything?”

  Excuse me? “What the hell does that mean?”

  “The boys need you. Your parents are leaving tomorrow, and I have to go back to work. You have to pull yourself out of this . . . I don’t even know what to call it. You look like shit. You aren’t eating, all you do is sleep, and this isn’t you.”

  My anger boils. “Have you lost a husband? Have you walked in to find your spouse hanging dead in your bathroom? Did you cry out for him to wake up? Huh? Have you?” I taunt her as my rage grows. “No? Oh, that’s right . . . it was me!”

  “I know you’re angry. So be angry! Be anything!”

  “I am!” I yell as my hands shake. “I’m so fucking angry! How could he do this, Angie? How could he think this was the goddamn answer?”

  “I don’t know, babe. I don’t. I’m livid, too. I hate that he did this. My own brother!” She balls her hands into fists. “It makes no fucking sense, but you can’t lie here paralyzed. The boys need you.”

  I’m not insensitive to her feelings. This is hard for her, too. I have a brother and even through we’re not close anymore, I would be broken if I lost him. But I’ll never get the images out of my mind. My life will never be the same. When my eyes close, I remember the events of that day in vivid detail.

  “Don’t tell me what they need. Don’t tell me what you think I should do! You’re not me. You’re stronger than I am, apparently. I can’t stop questioning this. I can’t make sense of it. Why would he do this to me?”

  “All I can come up with is that he felt hopeless.”

  “Well, I really appreciate that feeling right now.”

  Angie stands and rakes her hands through her hair. “You’re going to get in the shower. You’re going to get dressed in something other than sweatpants, and you’re going to function.”

  Who the hell does she think she is? How dare she talk to me like this? I’m in misery right now. Everything hurts. My head, my heart, my soul are aching. “You have no idea how I feel.”

  “Then tell me.”

  The idea of trying to articulate any of this makes me tired. “Confused. I’m so confused. All I keep asking is why? Why, why, why? I go from denial to anger and back to denial. I keep waiting for him to open the door or send me a text. I can’t stop myself from calling his phone.” I start to cry again. “I call and listen to his voice. I play it over and over because I’ll never hear it again.”

  “Shhh.” She enfolds me in her arms. “Did something happen with him or between you guys?”

  That’s the million-dollar question. I went through all his belongings, searching for an answer, but there was nothing. His home office held nothing. Everything he owned was in its place.

  “I have no idea.” My voice is thick with emotion. “This isn’t the man I knew. My husband, your brother, their father—wouldn’t do this. He would’ve talked to me, or I don’t know.”

  She takes my hand in hers. “When are you going to tell the boys the truth?”

  I close my eyes and release a long breath. “I can’t tell them everything. I know they’re not babies, but they can never know the details.”

  Her eyes widen. “Pres.”

  “They don’t ever need to know he chose to leave us. I won’t lie, but I’m going to protect them. I need you to do the same.”

  “Pres,” she interjects, but I raise my hand to stop her.

  “No.” My voice leaves no room for discussion. “They’re my kids. They’re already apologizing for not saving him, and I’m thanking God they never walked upstairs. So, no. We protect the kids. I never want them to know what he did. The emotions I feel, the anger, disappointment, and confusion—they shouldn’t have to battle it, too. No one else can know either. Not your mother, not my parents, no one.”

  She leans back with disapproval written all over her face. “One day they’ll find out, and then what?”

  “Then I’ll handle it.”

  I probably shouldn’t be making these kinds of choices right now. I’m not in the right state of mind, but this . . . I feel confident about. Those babies are all I have left. My heart is torn apart, not only from losing him, but also from knowing how. Why couldn’t he talk to me? When did he decide this?

  “Okay,” she says with disappointment. “I don’t agree, but I won’t say a word.”

  We sit in awkward silence. Angie has been my best friend since I left Tennessee. She’s helped me in so many ways, but right now, she can’t. I have to do this on my own.

  I grab the phone off my nightstand. “Hello?” My voice is still heavy with sleep despite it being after two in the afternoon.

  “Mrs. Benson, this is John Dowd. I was Todd’s insurance agent.”

  “Oh, yes.” I sit up, wiping my eyes. “Thank you for calling me back.”

  “I wanted to go over some information with you. Is now a good time?”

  The boys are at school, I’m in bed, and I’m not planning on moving from this spot today, so I guess it’s as good a time as any. “Sure, Mr. Dowd. Now is fine.”

  He releases a deep breath. “I’m calling to let you know the status of the insurance payout. Your father-in-law started the process on your behalf. About a year ago, Todd had me revise his life insurance plan. He upped it from $500,000 to $750,000. He wanted to ensure you had enough income, if something should happen, once your business started.”

  “Oh. I guess that was nice of him.” How nice that he was planning for the future, I want to scoff.

  “Yes, well, the issue is that there’s a suicide clause. Martin explained the circumstances surrounding Todd’s death. The thing is . . . if the plan isn’t two years old, the insurance policy won’t pay out.”

  The floor drops out from under me all over again. “But he was the primary breadwinner. I don’t understand. We’ll get nothing?”

  He clears his throat. “I’m afraid so. I tried, but with the policy being only a year old, they’re refusing to pay anything other than what Todd paid in. We rolled the premium over, but honestly, Mrs. Benson, it’s not much.”

  Oh, my God. “I-I,” I stutter, trying to find the words. “But my kids. Our home. How are we going to survive? How do I pay the mortgage and the bills?”

  “I’m truly sorry. I would call the bank, plead your case. Sometimes they’ll work with you. I’ll call Martin as well, explain the situation. But I tried all the appeals I could. There’s really nothing the insurance agency can offer you.”

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle this.” I feel sick. “You’re positive there’s nothing else? If I obtained a lawyer?”

  Mr. Dowd sighs. “I wish it would help. But the policy is very clear.”

  “Okay, then,” I reply with defeat.

  “If I can do anything, I will. I’m sorry again.”

  “Thank you.”

  I hang up the phone, bearing yet another blow. They just keep coming.

  O F COURSE. THAT’S ALL I can keep thinking. Of course this is happening. If he hadn’t changed the plan, we would have money to pay our bills. Now, I don’t know how we’re going to afford the mortgage. Our bakery is barely breaking even, let alone paying me enough to survive.

  I spend the next hour going through our home office. There’s nothing financial anywhere. I can’t find a bank statement, credit card bill, paystub . . . nothing. I don’t know if maybe he kept all the bills at work. I find the phone numbers on the back of the cards and start dialing.

  “What do you mean we have an outstanding bill?” I ask the fourth credit card company.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Benson,” the woman on the phone says for the tenth time. “The notes state that your husband arranged a payment plan but has been unable to keep up with it. If you don’t pay the minimum balance by the end of the week, we’re going to be sending the account to collections.”

  The blood drains from my body. It’s the same speech from
every account we have. Dozens of apologies. Hundreds of tears. And zero answers on how to get through this. I decide to call the office. Maybe Jeff will have some answers about where the hell Todd’s paychecks have been going.

  “Sterling, Dodd, and March Investment,” Kyla’s sweet voice rings in my ear.

  “Hi, Kyla.” I let out a shaky breath. “It’s Presley Benson. Is Jeff available?”

  I haven’t had time to think about much, but I don’t remember seeing him at the funeral. It’s all a blur though, a horrible nightmare.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about Todd,” her concern floats through.

  “Thank you,” I say on autopilot. I hear this so much that it’s lost its meaning. Sorry for what? Sorry that I’m in pain? Sorry that the boys are now without a father? Sorry that you didn’t see it coming? What exactly is everyone fucking sorry for?

  She clears her throat. “I wanted to call.”

  “It’s fine,” I pacify her. “Is Jeff available?”

  “Umm, he’s . . . he isn’t . . . well,” she stutters. “He’s actually out of the office.”

  “Okay,” I say with confusion. “Are any of Todd’s supervisors there? I’m trying to get some information about his paychecks.”

  Todd handled all our bills. There wasn’t a need for me to worry because he was an investor. It made sense for him to control the finances.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Benson.” Her voice drops. “Todd hasn’t worked here in a while. He received his last paycheck months ago.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t . . . I can put you through to payroll, but I don’t know what they’ll say.”

  “I don’t understand. He went to work the day he died.”

  “Let me put you through to Jeff’s voicemail,” she replies quickly.

  Before I can say anything, I hear Jeff’s voice and then a beep. “Jeff, it’s Presley. I need you to call me. I’m . . . just call.” I hang up the phone and sit here stunned.

  He lost his job? Did he change companies and that was why we were late? What the fuck is going on? I can’t take much more. There’s no money coming in from anywhere, and I have to pay bills that I didn’t know we had. I have to worry about food and how we’re going to keep a roof over our heads.

  Oh, my God. The house.

  I grab the phone and call the lender.

  “How far behind are we on the mortgage?” I ask. I close my eyes and pray he’s paid at least this one.

  “The house is set to go into foreclosure this week.”

  I grab my throat as I struggle to inhale. How could he do this to us? It’s one blow after another. He lied all this time. Anger takes hold and my fingers shake. This man was supposed to be my rock, and this is what he does? He spends months living some alternate life? I stand and begin to pace.

  “But—” I close my eyes and let out a breath. “I have two small kids, my husband has passed away, and I’m afraid I don’t have any way to pay all of the outstanding amount.” I’m breaking apart as the reality of my financial situation unravels.

  “I understand, ma’am.” Her voice is full of sympathy I don’t want. “I can put you through to my supervisor, but there’s not much we can do unless we can get at least four months caught up.”

  “Please,” I beg. “I can’t lose this house.”

  I go over everything again with the supervisor. She’s able to give me another month, but I need to come up with a lot of money.

  There’s no way it can happen.

  Even if I were to get lucky enough to find a job, I won’t make that much money. I don’t know anyone that pays a twelve-years-out-of-work stay-at-home mother with a little baking experience great money.

  After getting off the call, I text Angie and ask her to come over. This is a disaster.

  My world implodes again.

  I’m screwed. And alone.

  I hear the door open ten minutes later.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” I call out.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Angie asks.

  I go over what the insurance agent said. Her jaw falls slack as I tell her our conversation. I feel the ground beneath me caving in, and my hopes drain like the sand in an hourglass. Time is running out, just like our money.

  “Did you call the bank?”

  “Yeah,” I say with rage flowing through my veins. “It seems that Todd hasn’t paid the mortgage in four months. Did you know he doesn’t work for Sterling anymore?” I ask, hoping maybe she knew and I’m suffering from amnesia.

  “No, he was there last week. He called me from the office to see if we could have lunch.”

  “What?” I ask completely lost. “I don’t get it. Kyla said that he hasn’t worked there in a while. What the hell is going on?” I start to shake.

  “I don’t know, Pres. I don’t know what to think.”

  That makes two of us. “We’re completely maxed out on all our credit cards, and the bank is already starting the foreclosure process.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “He lied to me. He told me we were fine. He went to work every day for Christ’s sake! I’m fucked. I can’t afford this house. I can’t even pay the utilities.”

  She steps forward and grips my shoulders. I can see the fear splayed across her face. “You can live with me. You and the boys come live at the apartment.”

  I close my eyes while holding her arms. “We can’t.”

  “I’ll take out a loan. I’ll do something.”

  “Angie.” I sigh. “You can’t do any of that. Your apartment is a one bedroom in downtown Philly. You’re in as much debt as we are. The bakery isn’t making us any real money.”

  With each ounce of truth that falls from my lips, there is a bit of knowledge of what’s going to happen that falls with it. The life I fought so hard to escape is going to become my reality again.

  “You can’t go back to Tennessee. You can’t leave here.”

  “Trust me, I’d rather cut off my arm than go back to Bell Buckle. I have maybe a month or two to figure out how to dig us out of the hole we’re in before I can’t find a way out.”

  She nods. “We’ll figure it out. I can’t lose you, too.”

  I sure as hell hope so, because if I can’t magically produce a large sum of money, the life I’ve known for the last eighteen years is about to become a distant memory.

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Benson. At this time the bank isn’t able to offer any more extensions,” the slender woman explains to me again.

  I’ve exhausted all my options. I was able to borrow some money to get one month caught up, but now we’re back to square one. There won’t be enough funds to make another payment. No more help is available.

  “So, I have no other options?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  My mind can’t process all that’s happening. I continue to suffer loss after loss. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to find a way to make ends meet. I start to make progress, get one thing paid off, only to learn about a half dozen new credit cards that he took out in my name. Thanks to online accounts, all he needed was my social and date of birth. I’m legally responsible for all of it. It’s a never-ending nightmare that I can’t wake from.

  I stand, grab my purse, and walk out without another word. Nothing I can say will change anything. My kids and I will be homeless, we’re broke, and we have no other option. I can’t get a loan with no income and ruined credit. And I don’t have time to explore other options.

  Once I arrive back home, I look around feeling conflicted. I don’t want to leave, but I also don’t want to be here. The boys don’t understand why I sleep on the couch most nights. But being in that king-size bed reminds me that he left.

  Slowly, I climb the stairs to my bedroom. I remove the pearl earrings, which Todd bought me on our wedding day, and clutch them in my hand, feeling the prick from the backs before I launch them across the room. “Damn you!” I scream as I grab the photo of us that sits on my dresser.

  “Lies!
You lied! You broke me!” I yell at the man in the photo. “I loved you! I believed you when you said you’d never hurt me.” My voice cracks. “You didn’t hurt me! You destroyed me. You destroyed the boys because you’re selfish! Selfish!” I throw the photo to the ground and the glass splinters into tiny shards. “You!” Tears fall. “You did this. You couldn’t stick it out, so you leave us to deal with it? Is that it?” My head falls back as I talk to the ceiling.

  I’ve tried so hard to keep myself together. Each day I gather enough strength to get Cayden and Logan to school before I crawl back to bed. I’ve lived my entire life with someone taking care of me. I don’t know how to be this woman. My father, him , and then Todd have defined who I am. Now, I’m the widow.

  I’m the girl whose husband tragically died.

  If they only knew.

  My eyes close as I try to get my emotions in check. The boys will be home in a few hours, and I need a plan.

  The doorbell rings before I have a chance to even think.

  “Jeff,” I say quietly. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “Can I come in, Presley?”

  I open the door and wave my arm, inviting in Todd’s old boss. “What can I do for you?”

  He looks at the mess, and for the first time, I see it all. Dishes stacked, clothes in piles, and open chip bags. I cringe. Chips are all I’ve been eating for two weeks.

  “How are you holding up?”

  Jeff and Todd were extremely close. They helped turn the investment firm into what it is. Each of them were promoted around the same time and handled top accounts. For their ages, the money they made was remarkable.

  “What do you care?” I ask with disdain dripping from each syllable.

  He lets out a heavy sigh before his hands grip the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral. I couldn’t believe he . . . I mean, I never thought he would . . .”

  Only Angie and my in-laws know it was suicide. His words now tell me that he knows as well.

  My lips part as my chest aches. “You knew this was possible?” I struggle to intake air. “You knew he was thinking about this?”

  “I didn’t think he was serious, Presley. Not him. Not like this.”